A Daughter's Sacrifice
by BrokenKestral
Summary: The story of how Ramandu's daughter came to be on his island, and what she gave up to be there.


There are many things Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve will never be told about Narnian stars, and there are many things I do not know. But a little have I learned, as I heard one of their daughters speak to her newborn son Rilian. She spoke about her life and her choices, made long before Rilian's father was born. Will you listen to her story? Her story, for it isn't mine.

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_"Stars [are...] glittering people, all with long hair like burning silver and spears like white-hot metal." Narrator_

"_The great lords of the upper sky know the steps of their dance too well for that…" Doctor Cornelius_

"_I adjure you to set me free. By all fears and all loves, by the bright skies of Overland…" Prince Rilian_

"_When I set for the last time, decrepit and old beyond all that you can reckon, I was carried to this island [...] And when I have become as young as the child that was born yesterday, then I shall take my rising again (for we are at earth's eastern rim) and once more tread the great dance." Ramandu_

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Stars are not born as people are. Only Aslan knows how they begin. The first of them sprang into the sky at His song, and they shone for thousands of years. But all the stars in the night sky were still not enough; Aslan still makes more. When Aslan calls them into being, however that is done, they are given to an older star to be that star's child.

I was given to my father when he was old. Stars are born with their eyes open, looking to the light. It sinks into their hearts and minds; it circles their feet. They draw it in with their first breath and it sets their hair aflame. At the falling of their second night they are ready to dance for thousands of years. What they learn in that first and second day is not for you to know, my little son. I only tell you that mine were different.

My father was old, old enough he could not move. He danced beyond when he could set and then fly to his rest. After I had been born with my eyes open to the light, on my second day I was brought to my father and given a choice. I could carry his frail form to an island, this star who could not dance or move, or I could choose a different father and join the dance of the stars.

Little one, I wish you could have seen it. Stars do not link hands when they dance, for each seeks the freedom of the sky. But their movements mirror each other, and the light they scatter as they dance touches the other stars like the touch of a friend. The floor of the sky is dusted with light; only where a star's foot falls does the light break through to the world beneath. They dance with their spears and the light of each other, and their song, my dearest, their song. The melody harmonises with the glory of Narnia's very first song, the dawn of Creation. And it reaches to the end of this world, when Father Time will crush the sun and Aslan will call the stars home. I can still hear them singing in my heart, singing of all of time, from its beginning to its end. There are times Aslan allows them to dance a few steps ahead, and the Centaurs read their footfalls and speak of what is to come. Listen to them, little one, for they listen to the stars, and the stars sing the truth of time.

But though I hear it still, the nights I stand beneath the sky and listen, I cannot sing it. For I gave it up, all the song of the stars and their light. I looked at the star who could not move, and knew Aslan's choice for me was better than my own. So I sighed, drawing up all the light from my body and letting it fall to the floor with that vanishing breath. Then, kneeling, I touched the crumpled form on the floor of the sky. Light washed over us both, and around us the song rose.

I was crying, my son. Oh, my little one, do not be upset. I have learned that my sacrifice was my greatest joy, for it was made for love, and love was my reward. But to make it hurt, and that is allowed. There are times we mourn. Crying, I put forth my arms, these same ones holding you, and lifted my Father, and little one, all my tears fell away. For I loved him, and his good was a greater desire than my desire for the light and song of the stars. Holding his frail form, more easily broken than yours, though you are so young, I learned. I learned that when we make a sacrifice for the good of a loved one, love conquers the pain. Their good becomes our joy, and this was for my father's good. I held him in my arms, and two stars took my arms and danced us to an island.

There for years I waited. My father grew younger, morning by morning - your father will tell you the story of how someday. When he could speak again, he taught me. When he could move again, he walked with me. I learned the glory of watching my charge, my loved one, heal. The moment he first stood - bent over, his back still stooped, but he pushed himself up on his thin arms and I caught him when he fell - then my heart soared as high as if I were with the stars again. The moment he stood straight, his eyes filled with renewed wonder, and the moment he first could dance again, he laughed. After many years, our places were changed - he the authority and caretaker, and I his daughter. His good grew daily, and my joy grew with it.

Stars never lose their knowledge of time, and my father knew the times and seasons as they happened. He danced on the island for countless years and mornings before the time of the Four came and went, and he told me of their time in Narnia, and how to read the future from the dance of the stars. And it was then he told me that my story, too, was written in the stars' dance.

Little one, my heart thrilled with that. For if they danced my story, then I was in the heavens still; it was not lost to me if the melody of my life here echoed in their song. And my father listened to it, even when it went further than time had, and told me a little of my future - that I was to wait, for many lifetimes of men, till a man I would love more than my father would come to our home. Then I, who had given up the sky, would enter the world of men. And this too was joy, to learn that love was my reward.

Still I waited, and one dawn a ragged ship sailed to our island, and I ran to the shore. Surely, this would have my new family aboard; I was ready to welcome him! But my father caught up to me and drew me aside, and we watched in silence as three gaunt men, as thin as my father when I first saw him, came and found the feast at Aslan's Table. I looked from one to the other, searching, listening to the songs of their hearts, but I heard not one that would harmonise with my own. And as I watched and listened, the three began to quarrel. One of them touched that which was not right for him to touch,* the Stone Knife kept in honour at Aslan's Table, and the three sank into a deep sleep.

He was not among them. Many years I must still wait, and I learned the bitterness that only patience can lift. This, too, my father taught me. I had accepted Aslan's choice for me on my second dawn, and I had need to accept it again, even though the wait was bitter. I had heard the song of time, and I would demand Aslan alter time so I need not wait? So my father spoke, and spoke rightly. In time, I again accepted Aslan's choice for me. I needed that lesson, of those long years, before I entered the world of men. For this was the last lesson my father taught me, that in the world of men I would love and be loved, and have you, my little one, my prince, my son. But my father warned me the time I am given with you and Caspian will be short. Long years I waited; a few years I may have this love and dwell in this world. Why that is, I do not know. But with the patience I learned in those years of waiting, I accepted the ending of my song.

I did not see Caspian's ship come in. I and my father were resting, for we had listened to the stars that night, and they had sung of Narnia at peace, Calormen at war, and Galmans farming in the cool evening. The minor themes sang tales of the foolish antics of the Dufflepuds, and we had listened long, smiling together, till the setting of the stars. **The next morn I rose before my father, heeding the coming dawn. I gathered the tall candle in the silver candlestick, lit it, and went out of the hill to Aslan's Table. But as I went I saw, seated at His Table, shapes that stayed as still as statues - four people and a mouse from the world of mortals. All were staring at me. I set down the candle and they rose.

"Travellers who have come from far to Aslan's Table," I asked, "why do you not eat and drink?" The tallest of them, the second to rise to his feet, told me they feared the gifts Aslan had set out, for they thought it brought the deep slumber to the three gaunt quarrelers. "They have never tasted it," I explained, remembering the fight that had spurred them to actions that brought their doom. The girl - the first I had seen in the ages since I'd stood on the floor of the sky - asked what happened, and I told them of that morn seven years ago. And the girl - such a young girl, yet with Aslan's wisdom in her eyes - told her companions of the use of the knife as she had seen it, the dark night Aslan died.

Such strange visitors these. A girl who had seen Aslan Himself slain, a once-and-always-king who hesitantly spoke his doubts, a Mouse who spoke and honored me, and the tallest king who watched me, all in the end trusted in the gifts on Aslan's Table and ate. They ate together. They ate as companions, these friends, bound close together, and as they ate they served each other with Aslan's reflected grace. Having tasted His goodness, they inquired of me how to free the three Sleepers from their doom.

The tallest one - a Narnian King, a man from a world away, and young in spirit while old in experience, mentioned a story with a kiss, and asked if giving such to me would set the Sleepers free. I told him such was not the means but the reward of his chosen task, and at once he vowed to set the Sleepers free and earn such a gift. And I listened, now that he was speaking; I listened closely and carefully. His heart, his harmony, loud, venturesome, and yet faithful, stirred and moved my own, and I bid him ask my father how such a thing may be done. How such a reward may be earned.

For my father was the teacher now. And he woke, and came, and together the two of us sang the song of the sun birds, and did the work Aslan had set us. Then my father turned to welcome them.

My little son, your father will tell you more of this. Or perhaps the two of us will tell you together, how I watched as he led his crew, as the Mouse turned fear into courage in the hearts of the men, and as they brought to us a broken man. I led the broken man to a chair, setting him gently in that peaceful place of gifts. And then my gracious father sent him to sleep, that he might heal. But through this task, I was listening still, hearing that loud and courageous melody, drawn to it and thrilled by it. Shorter than the song of the stars, with phrases just as fierce, and within it I heard the heady thud of a mortal heart as the base to the whole. I heard him while he waited, I heard him when he spoke, and I listened to the melody as he bound together fearful men. I listened to the harmony he created in their hearts, igniting their courage as well, and more and more I learned to love his song.

But he was set on earning his reward, and keeping a vow he made. To do so required he leave. Leave beyond my ear's reach of his melody. But he gave me this gift, before I gave him any. He made me a promise to return. And then, once again, I needed to wait.

But not for years. A shorter time. Now I see that Aslan gifted me those days of waiting, for it was then I said farewell to my father and to the songs I may hear only at the end of the world (though sometimes I sing them to you in your cradle). I grieved, as I had when I gave up being a star, for it was the end of one life even as it was the beginning of another.

And again, little one - oh, my precious little one! - grief was soon swallowed up in joy, for your father and the Narnians returned, and with his hand he took me from my father's island and brought me here, to Cair Paravel. He gave me himself, a home, and a love as deep as his love for the sea. And in giving me himself, he also gave me you. Oh little one, I have been given so much. My Caspian, my Rilian, and the Narnians who have made themselves mine, you all are my joy and my reward.

So take from me this lesson, my Prince. Every sacrifice will be rewarded one day, though ages pass before, and we will not compare the suffering during the waiting to the glory revealed in us in Aslan's Country.***

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*Quoted from VOTD.  
**All that follows contains descriptions, dialogue, and events that happen in VOTD, including direct quotes.  
***Quoting Paul; thank you to lbernstiennm, who found the exact reference at Romans 8:18.

**Beta'd by trustingHim17, who continues to help curb my obsession with commas, and brainstormed with lbernstiennm, who helped catch the way I accidentally mashed together Bible verses.**


End file.
